Beneath a Waning Moon

Wandering through life oblivious is just as tragic a mistake as allowing paranoia to get the best of you. Curiosity is often fatal. There are dangerous, primal things out there, creatures that rip humans to bloody shreds before a single scream escapes. Lydia Ashby just might be one of those creatures. Then again, she isn't the only one.View table of contents...

Chapters:

"Rise, Lydia Ashby, daughter of
the Pack." The girl gracefully stood from her subservient kneel
under the alpha's hand. Her violet eyes sparkled brilliantly in
the moonlight. She wasn't nervous. Oh, no. She was
ready.

"From this night, you will serve
the Pack with your life." Lydia moved to face the Pack, the
apparition of a goddess. She was clothed in a white shift that
contrasted sharply with her jet black hair. Her face was set in
stone, despite the wild excitement rushing through
her.

She waited impatiently as he
finished repeating his words in Greek, as he had done the entire
ceremony. She fluently esponded in kind. "I
accept."

The alpha, her father, used the
ceremonial knife to quickly cut her outstretched palm. As
instructed, she squeezed closed her palm and shut her eyes and
merely waited, searching for a calling of some sort - a longing.
Abruptly, without her own say so, her arm violently jerked
outright and her hand opened. Crimson dripped on the primitive
sketches etched on the ground, each representing a different type
of shifter. Earlier that day, Lydia herself had traced them with
the point of an arrow. Now, she bent and touched one finger to
the picture on which her blood had fallen. Her breath caught in
her throat, terrified.

It was eerily silent. She could
feel dozens of eyes bearing down on her as she crouched, bathed
in the moonlight. Her father leaned down and she spoke almost
inaudibly in his ear.

(To be
continued)...

Preview:

...Her bones began to mold to
those of an animal. Lydia writhed and shrieked on the ground, a
fine sheen of sweat coating her. Kaden clutched her hand with his
own, the muscles flexing in his arm. He spoke urgently in her
ear, offering encouragement. She could only sob wildly in reply.
Her muscles ripped and her bones broke, waves of pain rolled over
her.

In the very back of her mind, she
vaguely recalled a legend her father had told her when she was
very young. It told of a Cherokee man teaching his grandson about
life. "A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. "It is
a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil - he
is anger, envy, pain, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt,
resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and
ego." He continued, "The other is good - he is joy, peace, love,
hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy,
generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going
on inside you - and inside every other person, too." The grandson
had thought a moment and asked, "Which wolf will win?" The old
Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

As Lydia felt her body be torn in
two, ripped to a mass of broken bones, she found strange peace in
such an old tale, and though she would never admit,
understanding. Focusing on the pain and despair only worsened it,
she felt. With everything left inside her, she summoned all the
strength in her body, wailing one last final time as the final
change tore through her.

And suddenly, it was over. Lydia
felt her old skin melt away to lean muscle and rippling black
fur. It was silent for a moment as the clearing stood struck by
awe. Then, a shot rang out.